Weeds
by Blooregard Q. Kazoo
Summary: Zim gives flowers to Gaz. Gaz is none too happy about the idea.


As much as I love the idea of Zim and Gaz, the couple just... doesn't... seem too plausible. The very idea of Zim or Gaz loving ANYONE seems strange. So, if Zim were to ever have any romantic inklings, I would envision his confrontation with our fiery purple-haired Gaz a-like-so. Oh, and this was, originally, a chaptered piece of work, but the story line has somehow eluded me and I must create a one-shot if I am to ever save it. It was originally entitled "Here, Take These Flowers... I Guess." _Disclaimer: Invader Zim is copyrighted material. This story is in no way associated with its owner._

**WEEDS**

**a**

**One-shot**

**by**

**Blooregard Q Kazoo**

"What?"

That was not the desired outcome. To have her question his motives, to have the quizzical glaring in her eyes – despite the fact that they were closed – and the way she clenched her knuckles into a painfully round fist went against everything he had previously planned. He could not fathom the situation.

"I said," Zim began, the superiority normally found within his voice fading with each syllable, "take these flowers, I guess, they're a token of my... _feelings_."

His strain on the word "feelings" was accompanied by a feigned smile so wide it occupied the majority of his head.

"Those aren't flowers, you know, they're weeds."

Seducing her would be much more complicated than previously thought.

"I know not of what you speak, foolish _girl_, I picked these this morning. They were growing in my lawn."

She let a groan escape from the corner of her mouth, slanting her eyebrows downward. Zim stepped back cautiously, noting her expression, hoping that, if he were to give her space, she would cool down. The last thing he needed was to _upset_ her.

Gaz saw him step back, but only by one step. Why was he not running away? His choice to distance himself without leaving her eyesight only evoked more rage. She cringed further, her face contorting into a visage of pure hate.

Zim was well aware of her anger, and in turn, became angry himself. He threw the dandelions upon the black tar of the schools parking lot – he had asked her to meet him behind the cafeteria, away from the playground where others may see them. They bounced along the surface that had been warmed by the sun, stray clots of dirt stuck to the weeds – still attached to the dandelion from when he yanked it from the ground – flew into the air and landed on her black, spotless shoes.

"You got dirt on my shoes."

And with that, she kicked him.

As Zim stared upward from his horizontal position on the pavement, he watched Gaz leave. She was much scarier from this position, he realized. He didn't bother to get up; he merely stared at the afternoon sky, deciding that it would be better to forgo the rest of the day and take a moment to reflect on what had happened. Half a day of school was of no importance to him.

How had it gone so wrong? It was GIR's fault. Yes, that was the problem – he had taken advice from GIR, and for a moment, had forgotten the droid's stupidity in favor of a plan that seemed, at the time, lacking any fallacies in logic. GIR, Zim had found, was absorbing the earth's culture at a rapid rate. Much faster than he, himself. But how was this so? Television was the answer. Yes, GIR, while his master was at school, frequented the soap opera channel, giving him insight into the world of human emotion. Jealousy, love, intrigue, drama... all of it was there! How could such a valuable resource skip the attention of the Irkin elite soldier? Furthermore, how could the humans allow such a gaping hole in their defenses? To offer examples of what makes them emotionally weak and prone to mistake... why, it was like watching an instructional video on how to strategically use emotion!

It was a rather interesting plan that GIR came up with. One that Zim, at first, was reluctant to even attempt. But GIR decided to dance about and make clucking noises... GIR was mimicking a barnyard animal, the "Chicken," if he was not mistaken. The chicken, for reasons unknown, represented cowardice. And Zim was no coward!

What better way, GIR had said, to get close to the enemy, than to get close to the enemy's sister!

Zim rolled over. He brushed off stray pebbles and bits of tar that had stuck to his skin. Using his palms to support his weight, he stood up before lifting the top half of his body from its parallel position to the ground. A small bug had made its home in the weeds that grew from the cracks in the tar. It stared, for a moment, at the giant shadow that blocked the afternoon sun. From its low, low vantage point, Zim's statuesque figure became a mighty silhouette that was framed by an outline of glowing incandescence, the tip of his black, perfectly moisturized hair gave off one blip of shine, accompanied by an audible "ping!"

Yes, the mighty Irken warrior would rise from his tar-laden defeat to fight again!


End file.
